


Take Back Your Time

by salexectria



Category: Persona 5, Persona 5 Royal
Genre: 2/2, Angst, Canon Aged Characters and Aged Up Characters, Complicated relationship dynamics, Dissociation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Death (kind of), Mild Sexual Content, Panic Attacks, Slight Canon Divergence, Time Travel, and chokes out your counselor, it's a little bit funny and a lot more sad but the story has a happy ending!, persona 5 royal spoilers, what do you do when an older version of your rival storms into leblanc, wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-13 09:27:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29151207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salexectria/pseuds/salexectria
Summary: “Are you there, Ake”--the door to Leblanc nearly shattered on its hinges with the force of which it was thrown open--“chi-kun!?” Maruki stuttered out, his face swiftly morphing from melancholic to bewildered in the span of a second as he openly gawked at the entryway.Akira blinked once. Did a double take. Then blinked once more.Because it wasn’t Akechi who had just stormed into Leblanc.Or, it was but...“You,” a man who looked like the splitting image of a twenty-something, utterly irate Goro Akechi spat, his face contorting into a feral grimace as he pointed directly at Maruki.There was a beat of absolute silence.And then chaos erupted.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 48
Kudos: 290





	1. Happy Birthday

Akira had been dreading the conversation with Maruki. 

Not because he was having second thoughts--no, Akira was steadfast in his resolve that this reality was a mistake. His resolution hadn’t come without a price, of course. His friends were being robbed of their dreams, their happiness no matter how false it was in nature...and Akira would have to bear the burden of knowing he was the one who ultimately was going to destroy it all. And even though the thieves and his rival were on board with its destruction, Akira knew that the decision had taken a piece of them with it. It had required a sacrifice from them all. And that ate Akira alive, knowing that they all had a taste of what could have--

No, Akira _couldn't_ think like that. It would only make everything he had to do that much harder.

Somehow, out of all the betrayals he had experienced this year, Maruki’s was by far the most painful. 

Maruki had held space for Akira when Akira had needed it most. Akira rarely entrusted others with his needs, having been burned too many times before this point to forge that kind of fragile, vulnerable, two-way connection with someone else. But Maruki had felt safe enough to confide in, and in turn made Akira feel _seen_ , feel _validated_. Had respected Akira’s opinions and sought them out instead of admonishing him for sharing his perspective. Against his better judgement, Akira had opened his heart.

No adult in Akira’s life had ever done that for him before. So of course learning that Maruki had taken those secrets spoken in confidence, _manipulated_ them, and thought he knew what would be best not only for him but the world…something _snapped_ in Akira.

And now, sitting across from the former “counselor” turned _Self-Appointed Savior_ , Akira battled his warring emotions into submission. Into the familiar blank mask he wore outside the Metaverse to hide his true disposition. The mask he thought he would never have had to wield against the one adult he thought he would have never needed to hide from. 

From the only adult he thought he could finally trust. 

The calling card tucked in the inner pocket of his jacket was burning a hole through its thin fabric. Each controlled breath Akira took as he listened to Maruki explain himself pressed the blistering deadweight a little closer to the skin of his chest. The frail, last line of defense he had that separated the world from that bleeding and bruised muscle. 

And right now, if he didn’t get rid of the card within the next few seconds he was sure the scent of his burning flesh would suffocate them all. 

Maruki broke the lull that had settled between them first. His voice was gentle when he asked, “Are you sure you don't have any doubts, Kurusu-kun?”

Akira narrowed his eyes at the formality. They were past that. _Way_ past that. “What do you mean, Maruki- _sensei_?” Akira responded sardonically. 

The hand Maruki had wrapped around the mug of coffee Akira had made for him started a complicated beat against its porcelain surface as he studied Akira. 

“ _Akira_ ,” he amended and started again, his eyes softening into something almost sorrowful. “More accurately, I should really be be asking 'do you two gentlemen have any doubts',” Maurki paused and glanced over his shoulder towards the cafe entrance. 

“You're there, aren't you Ake”--the door to Leblanc nearly shattered on its hinges with the force of which it was thrown open--“chi-kun!?” Maruki stuttered out, his face swiftly morphing from melancholic to bewildered in the span of a second as he openly gawked at the entryway.

Akira blinked once. Did a double take. Then blinked once more.

Because it wasn’t Akechi who had just stormed into Leblanc.

Or, it was but... 

“ _You_ ,” a man who looked like the _splitting_ image of a twenty-something, utterly irate Goro Akechi spat, his face contorting into a feral grimace as he pointed directly at Maruki.

Akira had seen the younger version of Akechi make that exact expression only one time before in the bowels of Shido’s palace. It was not something anyone wanted to be on the receiving end of. 

There was a beat of absolute silence.

And then chaos erupted.

This older version of Akechi with murderous intent seething in his eyes launched himself at Maruki, barreling full force into their booth like a bull after the counselor’s throat. Maruki made a very undignified squeak at the sudden assault and tried to put as much space between him and the rampaging Older Akechi by scrambling further into the seat. Kicking wildly at him to try and stop the halestorm of blows reigning down from the furious Akechi-lookalike. It did little to deter the older detective prince. If anything it made him even angrier.

Meanwhile Morgana, who had relocated from sitting next to Akira to perching behind him on top of the booth, was yowling at ear piercing decibels. His fur also was comically puffed up, making him appear two times his normal size as he whipped his head back and forth between the attempted murder happening before them and Akira. 

Who was sitting there with his coffee mug halfway to his mouth, watching everything unfold in a sort of detached awe.

A moment later the door was ripped open a second time and everything got a whole lot weirder.

Because it _still_ wasn’t Akechi.

Instead, a very frazzled looking twenty-something version of _himself_ tumbled through the door. He was out of breath, as if he had sprinted all the way here from...where ever the fuck he had come from. This older version of himself took one panicked survey of the room and promptly leapt into the chaos, snagging the Older Akechi around the waist in an attempt to slow his assault. 

This older version of Akechi was taller, and had a bit more mass than his older self, but his older doppelganger didn’t let that stop him. He braced one boot against the seat of the booth and dug his other heel in the floor, leveraging the angle and gravity, to yank the Older Akechi off of the therapist’s lower half. 

At this point, Akira noted, Maruki had effectively shoved himself so far back that he was half on the table with his back pressed against the window, fingers clumsily looking for the latch that would open it. In his haste to avoid the older Akechi’s swiping gloved fists, he knocked over the potted plant on the window sill. Soil cascaded across the table along with the poor upended plant and broken fragments of its pot.

Sojiro was going to kill him.

 _I should really be more concerned about all of this_ , Akira idly thought, flicking away a tiny ceramic shard. But he found it was hard to feel anything right now, as what he was watching seemed so surreal. _I wonder if this is what disassociating feels like_.

For the third time that evening the door to Leblanc was forced open with an unforgiving _smack_ that sounded off over the cries and screams from the fight. The wall was surely dented at this point from the abuse. Akira vaguely wondered if the door hinges were going to survive the night.

This time it was the Akechi he had been expecting. Eighteen year old Goro Akechi stood in the doorway, gaping in utter shock at the pandemonium unfolding before them. Akira could practically see the formulaic equations running through and swirling around Akechi’s head, as he processed what was happening. 

The younger Akechi simply mouthed, “ _What the fuck_.” And continued not to move.

Akira’s attention was drawn back to the weird three sided battle happening literally two feet in front of him when he heard a pained gasp.

“Goro--plea--,” the older version of Akira wheezed, collapsing onto the floor after a sharp elbow connected with his sternum, “ _p-please_ \-- _stop_.”

The older version of Goro Akechi did not, in fact, stop. He in fact, got worse.

“ _Get back here you PIECE OF SHIT,”_ he bellowed, successfully grabbing hold of Maruki’s leg just as the counselor had managed to get his head and shoulders out the window.

Another undignified squeak escaped Maruki as his body was forcefully pulled back into the booth with a very painful looking jerk.

“A-Akechi-ku--” Maruki started to plead, but his voice cut off in a gurgle when the older Akechi managed to get both of his gloved hands around his throat. 

It was at that moment his older self resurfaced in the fight. Hooking his arms under the older Akechi’s armpits, he twisted Akechi’s arms back, breaking his hold around the counselor’s throat and heaved the detective off Maruki. 

“ _No!_ ” the pinned Akechi cried, scrambling for purchase on Maruki’s sweater as he was tipped backwards.

The sound of stitches ripping followed the men as they tumbled backwards out of the booth and into a couple of the barstools behind them, which crashed to the ground in their wake. Maruki braced himself with one hand on the table and his other on the back of the booth to prevent himself from tipping into the writhing body pile on the floor. His sweater was stretched out and torn, hanging loosely off his neck.

Akira’s phone, which had also been on the table, lit up and started to incessantly vibrate. A stream of messages from Futaba were flooding in when Akira checked it. He elected to ignore those for now. Before flipping the screen down, Akira took note of the time.

23:58. 

Two more minutes until this shitshow of a day was over and the dawn of February Third would rise. Akira released a weary sigh and set his phone aside in favor of his now lukewarm coffee. God damn he wished he had something a little stronger than the Jamaican Blue Mountain brew he was sipping on to put up with all this bullshit.

 _Happy fucking Birthday to me_ , he thought as he raised his mug in mock _cheers_ at the camera Futaba had installed in the corner of Leblanc’s seating area. Where he was one hundred percent certain she was watching in pure horror, given the messages he was _still_ receiving making his phone vibrate and shimmy at his elbow.

Honestly after all this, Akira suspected nothing in this world could ever surprise him anymore.

“Aren’t you going to help?” Morgana’s voice cut through the static he hadn’t realized had been present in his ears.

From the floor, his older self was doing a much better job at dodging the older Akechi’s flying elbows with graceful dexterity, but Maruki somehow had strayed too close. He was now kneeling on the floor with his sweater once again in the older Akechi’s vice grip.

“He kind of deserves it,” Akira said flatly, setting down his mug.

Though Akira quickly changed his mind when Maruki started making gurgling noises again, which could only signify one thing.

The younger Akechi recovered from his stupefaction when he saw Akira move, and stepped in to assist. It required both Akira’s older self and the younger Akechi to hold back the raging older Akechi long enough for Akira to pull Maruki safely away. The older Akechi was then shoved against a wall, getting yelled at quite vehemently by his older self.

“Sorry about your sweater,” Akira said, after he turned away from the arguing dopplegangers.

Maurki plucked at the frayed neckline and chuckled a bit breathlessly. “It’s seen better days.”

Upon closer inspection, Maurki’s glasses were broken and sitting askew on his face. His lip also had been split at some point and was leaking a tiny trail of blood down his chin. Akira grabbed a bunch of napkins off the counter and held them out to Maruki, who accepted and thanked him with a slight bow of his head, pressing them to his mouth. 

“Would someone kindly explain just what the _fuck_ is going on,” the younger Akechi demanded in near hysterics ( _his Akechi,_ Akira’s mind unhelpfully supplied before Akira buried that thought deep down).

The older versions of themselves fell silent. 

There was a deep sigh that sounded almost identical to the one Akira had made a few minutes ago. 

“Let’s try this again,” Akira heard his voice say from across the room, “how about we all take a seat. Calmly.” There was a pregnant pause as his older self shot a pointed look at the Akechi who had been the source of the problems, and released him from the wall. “Like civil adults.” 

“ _Fine_ ,” the older Akechi said, adjusting the scarf around his neck and smoothing out the lapels of his rumpled grey peacoat before sliding into the booth, with his older self right behind.

Akira tugged on Maruki’s sleeve, gesturing to follow him into the seat across from their visitors. Akira went in first, sitting directly across from the older Akechi which left Maruki to sit opposite the other Akira. 

It was probably safer for everyone this way.

The younger Akechi ( _his Akechi_ ) elected to remain standing, leaning against the far counter with his arms crossed over his tan coat in an attempt to look imposing, but really he just looked uncomfortable in Akira’s opinion.

Once everyone had settled in, the older Akira turned to Maruki. A sad smile broke across his face as he said, softly, “Hello Takuto.”

Why hearing his voice say Maruki’s first name was the thing that finally made Akira realize just how absurd this whole situation was, that shocked Akira back into his body from the weird detached space he had been floating around in the past few minutes, Akira couldn’t tell you. 

Panic clawed its way out of his chest and into his throat, making his breathing erratic and ragged. The calling card in his pocket now felt like molten metal encasing his chest. His mind was reeling, racing, splitting apart as it finally registered that the man sitting adjacent from him across the table looked Just. Like. Himself. 

_What the fuck? What the FUCK?? WHAT THE FUCK!?_

Maruki looked between him and his older self. “Akira…can you please explain yourself?”

“Uhm, I have no idea what’s happening,” Akira managed to get out weakly, before realizing Maruki wasn’t speaking to him, but the older man sharing his face.

“I think it would make it easier if everyone referred to us by our surnames, and our younger selves by their given names, for clarity’s sake,” his older self said, glancing at Akira and then Goro standing by the counter. “Will that be a problem?”

“Yes,” Goro said testily.

“Get over it,” Akechi snapped at his younger self.

Goro’s eyes flared. “Why should I--”

“Because it's a trivial distinction and it doesn’t really matter,” Akechi spoke over him, flicking his eyes over to Maruki briefly, “not when we have more pressing issues to deal with. Stop being difficult.”

 _That’s kind of rich coming from you_ , Akira thought but did not say.

Goro huffed but didn’t push it any further, opting to glare balefully at himself. The tension rolling off of Goro was enough to make Akira squirm, even from the otherside of the room. Luckily Akechi remained unphased by the daggers being thrown in his direction. 

“To keep it simple and state the obvious, we are you. We travelled from the future of the reality this _idiot,”_ Akechi gestured at Maruki, _“_ wants to impose upon the world. We’re here to make sure it never actualizes, as something evidently went very wrong when we attempted to do the same ten years ago.”

Morgana’s exclamation of “ _Ten_ years?!” overlapped with Akira’s yelp (Morgana had reflexively dug his claws into Akira) and Goro’s “What do you mean, ‘something _went wrong_ ’?”

“Yes ten years Mona, and I mean it exactly how it sounds,” Akechi said in a clipped tone, clearly not willing to explain himself further.

Akira sucked in a breath through his teeth as Morgana retracted the claws he embedded from his shoulder and mumbled an apology in his ear.

“Our memories of what happened on February Third are...not intact,” Kurusu offered, earning a scowl from Akechi. “The last thing I remember is entering the palace...then… waking up in the new reality. Same for him,” Kurusu nodded in the direction of his boothmate, whose scowl deepened.

Maruki cleared his throat. “How did you time tra--”

“We aren’t telling you shit, what we’ve said is all you needed to know,” Akechi snarled, “so shut up, read the damn calling card, and then get out.”

“If you lived in my reality for that long, surely you found it enjoyable Akechi-kun, you--”

“Don’t assume you know anything about me,” he growled, “and don’t make me repeat myself.”

“You are both aware of what will happen if this reality-- _your reality_ , is destroyed...,” Maruki said slowly, gaze switching between the older boys emphatically.

“It was never _ours_ ,” Akechi was quick to shoot back.

Kurusu nodded. “We are fully aware and...deemed travelling here to end it worth the consequence.” 

“Kurusu…” Maruki said, a mortified expression dawning on his face. “I suspected Akechi-kun might have felt this way given the conditions of his existence...but you too?”

“Wait, I don’t follow,” Akira spoke up, unease settling heavily into his gut like lead stone as he watched the varying expressions on the faces before him. _They all know something I don’t._ “Conditions of his existence…?” 

“He hasn’t told me yet,” Kurusu said, suddenly avoiding Akira’s eyes, instead turning to face Akechi. “That...complicates things.”

Both Akechi and Kurusu exchanged a look, then glanced at Goro.

“I take it you haven’t shared anything with Akira either,” Akechi asked Goro--who eyes darted over to Akira before shaking his ‘ _no’_. “I guess that answers our question if we landed in the right timeline,” Akechi muttered, then sat up straight, leveling a look directly at Akira.

Akira’s heart rate spiked under the weight of the familiar yet so f _oreign_ maroon tinted gaze, and he was struck once again by how breathtakingly beautiful Akechi Goro was. Taking the time to _look_ at this older version of his rival, Akira noticed the years had been kind to him. His cheekbones had become more prominent, defining his face with sharper angles that his shorter hair style complimented. Even if it was still a little mussed from the earlier fight.

Akira swallowed thickly. Whatever Akechi was about to say, he had a feeling it wasn’t going to be good.

“What your esteemed counselor was most likely about to tell you before I”--he exhaled sharply--“ _lost my temper_ , was that in the _true_ reality, we most likely died,” Akechi explained coolly, gesturing between himself and Goro on his right. “The only reason we’re here presumably is because it was your wish. And Maruki granted it.”

Something in Akira’s chest cracked painfully. 

He desperately wanted Goro to meet his eyes, to look at him, to tell him it wasn’t _true._ That he escaped the night they fought in Shido’s palace _._ But he was still staring at his older self with an intensity that barred no distractions.

_It couldn’t be true._

Akira had felt the warmth of Akechi’s body when they brushed shoulders on the subway, had watched as the clouds of his breath faded away into nothing in the cold January air when they loitered outside the Jazz Jin. Witnessed the blood rush to flush his face when Akira teased him over ridiculously sugary, overpriced drinks and soft music. Sensed the raw power in his presence when they would pull off a seamlessly synchronized attack in the metaverse together…

It couldn’t be… _he_ couldn’t be...

Akira’s vision tunneled as he focused on his rival. 

Goro brought his hand to his chin, falling into his typical thinking pose which Akira had always found endearing, but now was sending sharp pains through his chest. “I couldn’t find any conclusive evidence to support it, but given the gaps in my memory after my final fight with Akira, and Wakaba Isshiki and President Okumura’s suspicious reappearances…,” he trailed off with a shrug. “Occam’s razor.”

“The simplest explanation is often the correct one,” both Goro and Akechi said in tandem. 

“Two of you.” Kurusu pinched the bridge of his nose, pushing his glasses up into his fringe as he did, and muttered under his breath, “I have to deal with _two_ of you for the next twenty-four hours.”

Akechi pinched Kurusu (who flinched) without breaking eye contact with Akira and continued on, “And then Maruki was going to bait you, Akira, into accepting his false paradise by dangling our life before you. Holding us hostage, essentially.”

“I wouldn’t have explained like that!” Maruki said defensively. “I was devastated when I learned what happened to you--err the two of you? That night in December. I don’t mean to make it seem like I am holding you both hostage--”

“But you are, and you _did._ ”

“ _Will_ , this Maruki hasn’t done it yet,” Kurusu quietly corrected Akechi.

Akechi plowed on, ignoring Kurusu’s comment, voice raising with each word he spoke, “You stripped us of our agency, forced us to play pretend in a world where you erased and repurposed parts of ourselves to fit your mold of perfection!”

Maruki winced.

Akechi trembled, barely able to contain his anger, “I’ve spent enough of my life being manipulated by the will of men who think they own me, own the world. I refuse to live a moment longer in a reality concocted by someone else. _I refuse_.” His gloved fist slammed down on the table, causing the half-full mugs of forgotten coffee to rattle and send little splatters of dark liquid onto its surface. 

Kurusu was quick to place his left hand over Akechi’s fist, who recoiled under the touch. 

Akira stiffened at the sight of a thin band of silver on Kurusu’s finger, glinting under the soft lights overhead.

_He’s married... I’m married?_

Akechi started to pull away but then stopped, exhaling sharply. Kurusu ran his thumb over Akechi’s knuckles and his gloved fingers finally relaxed under Kurusu’s palm, splaying onto the table. He let Kurusu pull their hands off and out of sight.

“And.. you agree with this Kurusu?” Maruki asked after a few seconds of silence.

Kurusu took a steadying breath, and answered. “I do. And I understand that it means that I will also cease to exist.” A small smirk played on his lips. “At least this version of me.”

Maruki slumped back in defeat, staring unblinkingly at the droplets of coffee on the table. He swallowed, his jaw working for a moment before he nodded to himself. “Well then, I must accept that those are your decisions.” He looked up. “However, you don’t speak fo--”

“I also refuse to accept this farce of a life,” Goro interrupted, as if he had been waiting for Maruki to call on him. He turned his glare fully onto the former counselor and lifted his chin defiantly, “I’ve made my decision, and nothing you or anyone else says will change my mind.”

“Akira?” Maruki’s voice sounded so small and so far away, despite being right next to him. Akira turned in his seat, meeting Maruki’s pleading eyes. “Do you feel the same?”

Akira’s heart twisted in on itself. 

Did he feel the same?

Before he couldn’t feel anything but now… it was as if his body was making up for the lost time. He was feeling too many things all at once. 

If he rejected the reality Maruki was offering...it would mean…condemning them all to death.

From the corner of his eye, Akira took in the strange trio’s expressions. They all were mirrors of each other, all displaying their own versions of unwavering resolve and grim determination that Akira had walked into this conversation with--before everything had fallen apart. 

A gentle nudge against the back of his head coupled with soothing purrs grounded Akira enough to stop his mind from spiraling any further. It also reminded him that it wasn’t just these lives who had a say in the fate of reality.

“I do,” he echoed his older self, and reached into his jacket pocket. Fire licked at his fingers as he peeled off the calling card that had melded into his skin and tossed it onto the table in front of Maruki. 

Finally free of its oppressive, burning weight Akira took his first full breath since he came down the stairs from his room. Its phantom pain lingered, the skin too hot and tender where the card had laid over his heart. Akira flexed his fingers over the spot, hoping the friction would ease the discomfort. It didn’t. So he shoved his hand into his pants pocket and focused on regulating his breathing. 

“I thought out of all people, you would understand,” Maruki said in the same small voice. Gently, he picked up the card and turned it over. “I’ve heard your calling. I’ll be waiting in the palace, as promised.”

When he stood up no one moved to stop him. 

He met each of their eyes one last time and said, “If you don’t show, I’ll take that to mean you’ve accepted my reality.”

“We’ll be there,” Kurusu said with a conviction Akira had never heard himself use before. “See you tomorrow.”

“Ah, today, actually,” Maruki said, checking his watch. A heartbreaking smile formed on his face. “It’s probably not my place to say it, but Happ--.”

“Don’t you dare. _Get. Out_ ,” Akechi hissed venomously.

When the door clicked shut and the chimes ceased their ringing from Maruki’s exit, a collective sigh of relief seemed to ripple through the group. Akira let himself fall back against the booth, and was low key amused when he watched his older self do almost the exact same thing. Akechi gingerly leaned back as well, tension bleeding out from his tense shoulders as he eased himself down aside Kurusu. Kurusu reached out a hand and hesitated before tucking a short lock of hair behind Akechi's ear.

Akechi turned to him and whispered, “I can’t believe...that it worked."

“Believe it,” Kurusu matched his volume, and suddenly Akira felt like he was intruding on a private moment as their gazes lingered a little too long on each other.

“Are you, we...” Akira began uncertainly, “...friends then? In the future?”

Akira watched himself blush in real time. 

“Ah. About that,” Kurusu said, fiddling with a piece of fringe as his cheeks continued to darken.

Akechi lifted his left hand and started tugging off his glove, one finger at a time. “In a manner of speaking.”

Akira’s heart kicked into high gear. _Oh my god._

On Akechi’s ring finger was a thin silver band. Identical to the one on Kurusu’s hand--that he was now holding up beside Akechi’s.

Goro was the first to react. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

“Oh get over yourself,” Akechi chided, “you can quit pretending like you never-- _ouch_!” 

A sudden violent exchange under the table had Akira heavily suspecting his older self had stomped on Akechi’s foot. 

Akechi glared at Kurusu. Kurusu glared right back.

“Would it kill you to be nice to yourself?”

Akechi crossed his arms. “Yes.”

“Uh,” Akira croaked, drawing everyone’s attention, “can we talk about how this happened?” 

“You both probably have lots of questions,” Kurusu said, “So let’s start at the beginning. Goro, you might want to sit down for this.”


	2. Make A Wish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re an idiot.”
> 
> Akira winked at him. “I’m your idiot.”
> 
> Akira’s chest tightened when the already present blush on Goro’s face darkened. Goro quickly raised a fist to stifle the chuckle he let slip, but didn’t turn away. Akira held his gaze, losing himself in those crimson depths that flickered with the light from flames beneath him. Akira wanted to stay suspended in this moment forever, wanted to always be the one Goro felt safe dropping his guard in front of, wanted to be the one to coax that soft laughter from his chest. 
> 
> Unfortunately, candles only lasted so long.
> 
> “Don’t forget to make a wish,” Akira said, breaking the moment, “hurry, before the wax melts into the icing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in this chapter, Kurusu and Akechi revert back to Akira and Goro since it takes place in the false reality
> 
> buckle up, it's an emotional ride. 
> 
> Spoilers / Content Warnings: brief sexual content, non-explicit mentions of blood, and implied past suicide at the end (for a mentioned background character)

**_J̥̗͓̬̄͜ụ̢̝͇ͪ̍͒̉n̻̤̗̩̻̗̈͡ė͖̯̯̜̳͈̤̠ͮ͜ ̡̟͓͎̇͋̔̚2̛̜̻̻̗̅͊ͦṉ̛͎̾̈́̑ͪd̉͏̥̬̺͇͚,́̉̋͏͙̱̯ ̧͉̞̬͙̳͗͗2̨̹̗̬͔͔̱̊̓͌̾ͅ0̮̖ͬ̋͞1̵̳̳̞̼̚ͅ7̛̯̫̪͕̠͙̙̐́_ **

  
  
  


“Sooooo, you’re gonna tell him today, right?” Ann asked for possibly the hundredth time, draping herself over Leblanc’s counter. 

Ann’s chipper attitude was starting to really grate on Akira’s already fraying nerves. She and Kasumi had been tag teaming him all day, ambushing him at every turn in Shujin to pressure him into admitting his feelings to Goro. He was sure their goal was just to hype him up but their excited energy was having the opposite effect, making Akira feel smothered and anxious. And to make matters worse, he learned over lunch that Futaba had been texting Goro practically all day non-stop about how “thrilled Akira was to have him stay the weekend” and that “Akira couldn’t wait to see him” after he was done wrapping up uni classes and paperwork with his latest freelanced case.

And _then_ all three followed Akira home to bully him more than they already had at school (or to get back Kasumi’s glasses Akira stole in retaliation for their incessant bothering. His plan, obviously, backfired).

“Heh, bet he’s gonna chicken out,” Futaba cackled, sneaking around the counter to stand by Akira and watch him make Goro’s favorite blend with Sojiro level precision. 

“No, don’t chicken out senpai!” Kasumi slammed her hands down on the counter across from Akira. “You should totally go for it!”

As if he hadn’t heard that fifty times over in the span of eight hours.

Akira glared at his adoptive sister who had breached his personal space, poking her forehead in an attempt to push her away. 

“I will confess....eventually.” A chorus of frustrated whines rose up in synchrony with the steam from the mug he was pouring into. “I just don’t think doing it on his birthday is the best time. It seems a bit selfish.” 

Under the weight of their stares, Akira fiddled with Sumi’s glasses perched on the edge of his nose.

He was _definitely_ chickening out.

“Suuuure,” Ann drawled as if reading his thoughts, snatching the glasses off his face and bumping Kasumi with her hip as the gymnast joined her to lean side by side over the counter of Leblanc. Kasumi nodded to Ann in thanks when she handed the frames over, putting them back on her face where they belonged.

“I think I’ll just stick to surprising him with these.” He nodded in the direction of the cake he baked, a pack of candles, and a small pile of gifts placed in front of Goro’s usual seat.

“Uggggghh,” Futaba sighed dramatically, smacking her forehead down on the counter, much to Ann’s alarm. “You are such an oblivious disaster.”

Akira placed Goro’s cup by his cake and leaned against the counter, turning his back towards the door to face the girls. “What? This isn’t exactly easy for me.”

“We’re not trying to say it isn’t,” Ann said, “but don’t you think Goro has the right to know how you feel about him?”

“Well, yeah, but…” he wrapped a curl around his finger and tugged. “What am I supposed to say?”

How was he supposed to tell his enemy turned rival turned (finally) best friend that he’s pining after him ever since he started hunting him down as a Phantom Thief? One would think after joining forces to overthrow a government conspiracy together and literally fighting God for control of humanity side by side, that confessing his stupid feelings would be a breeze but...

“How am I supposed to tell Goro he’s the most important person to me in my life? That’s not something you can just, just outright say to someone.”

_Neither was telling someone you shot God in the face but, alas._

Ann dropped her head into her hands and announced, “Akira, you are the dumbest smart person I know, you know that?”

He attempted to give Ann a hard stare but it faltered. The emotional dam in his mind had burst, eroded away after their persistent pushing and the thoughts were spilling out faster than he could censor, faster than he could mask on his face. And suddenly, they were spilling from his lips.

“How am I supposed to tell him he’s all I think about? That I’d do anything to see him smile? To make him happy?”

Futaba lifted her head and peered at something just behind him. “Um, Akira?”

“And every moment I'm with him, he challenges me to be the best version of myself? Hell, I feel like I can be my authentic self in front of him. That when he looks at me he--”

“--Senpai, I think you should--”

Akira went on, not registering the soft bells that chimed behind him. “-- makes me feel like we’re the only two people in the entire world? That when we spend time together, it's like time stops and it’s just us. And--”

“--Haah~, Akira--”

“--that I’m hopelessly in love with--”

Ann grabbed his face and forcibly turned his head to the door. 

_Oh._

A wave of heat swept up the back of his neck and across his face as he took in the man who stole his heart. Akechi Goro, who looked like he stepped out of some dark academy young adult novel in his stylishly collared shirt tucked neatly under a light weight sweater, was lingering awkwardly a few steps away from the entryway.

The death grip on his chin was relinquished and Akira lurched forward a bit from the sudden loss of support. He swallowed thickly, grasping for any words his short circuiting brain could produce. 

“Hi, Goro.”

“Hello,” Goro said, glancing at each of the girls before settling upon Akira. He shifted the strap of his overnight bag on his shoulder.

“O-Okay, we’re gonna make a tree and leave!” Futaba exclaimed, whipping around the counter and snagging both Ann and Kasumi by the backs of their Shujin jackets.

The girls rushed past Goro and out the door, but not before Ann turned around and gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up. Leaving Akira standing there a little awkwardly playing with hair, staring at Goro.

Goro waited until the door clicked shut behind him before sliding closer before speaking up. “I didn’t know you were in love with someone, why didn’t you tell me?” 

Akira had two options.

One, he could lie. 

He could lie because he _really_ didn’t want to put Goro on the spot on his birthday. More honestly though, Akira wasn’t ready to face the repercussions of a rejection he was sure to get, despite his friends practically screaming at him to just do it. Akira was convinced there were thousands of better guys at Todai that outclassed him that were Goro’s type.

Two, he could confess. 

Risk it all. Release the floodgates of almost a year's worth of pining, effectively altering the dynamic between them forever. Potentially ruining everything they had worked to attain by admitting he’s been in love with Goro for as long as he can remember. Hoping he wasn’t misreading the chemistry between them entirely.

What he said instead was this:

“Uh, because today is all about you and your feelings not mine, and um,” he quickly directed Goro’s attention to everything Akira had put together for him on the counter, picking up the packet of candles and sticking a few in the cake sporadically. “Surprise?” Akira said, magically pulling a third option out his ass (which was Pretend It Didn’t Happen and Avoid At All Costs). 

Goro stepped closer, dropping his bag on one of the bar stools, stopping in front of where Akira was standing. His gaze swept over the small display of Akira’s affection and took a sharp breath in.

“Akira, you didn’t have to.” Goro’s eyes were a bit glassy when they met Akira’s again. 

“I know, but I wanted to.”

“You,” Goro breathed, the glassiness in his eyes abruptly turning distant, “you really are…”

Akira’s brows furrowed when Goro’s silence went on too long. “Are you okay?” 

A moment later the far away expression vanished, and Goro flinched. “Fine, I’m fine.” Goro waved him off and slid into his usual seat, slightly less coordinated than he normally would be. He reached for the cup of coffee and brought it to his mouth for a sip. “Just got hit with a wave of vertigo. It’ll pass.”

“Alright,” Akira said slowly, not entirely buying Goro’s act. 

Odd that he was trying to pretend he was fine when he clearly wasn’t. But Akira wasn’t going to press it since Goro clearly didn’t want to elaborate. With a flourish, he pulled a set of matches from his apron pocket and lit the candles. 

“I hope you still have enough strength left to take out a few of these. But first--”

“You’re going to sing, aren’t you.” Goro shut his eyes. Probably to hide the fact he was rolling them.

It wasn’t a question as much as it was a resigned acceptance of his fate. 

Akira started singing, and putting as much showmanship into it as he possibly could in such a short ballad. Goro all the while pinched the bridge of his nose, face steadily growing pinker by the second.

“You are _so_ embarrassing. What if someone had walked in?”

“Futaba flipped the sign when she left,” Akira said, gesturing to the door which clearly had the “open” sign facing inward.

“Of course she did,” Goro muttered. “She’s probably watching right now too.”

“Nope, I made her promise to deactivate her bugs for your private serenade.” Akira rested his elbows on the counter and dropped his chin into his palm. “You can now boast that you are the only person in the world who knows what my singing voice sounds like.”

Goro gave him a flat stare. “I seriously doubt that. You’ve sung happy birthday to your other friends before surely.”

“Nope, I just imitate the words very convincingly. I don’t actually si--I swear! Goro,” Akira laughed, “stop looking at me like that!”

“You’re an idiot.”

Akira winked at him. “I’m _your_ idiot.”

Akira’s chest tightened when the already present blush on Goro’s face darkened. Goro quickly raised a fist to stifle the chuckle he let slip, but didn’t turn away. Akira held his gaze, losing himself in those crimson depths that flickered with the light from flames beneath him. Akira wanted to stay suspended in this moment forever, wanted to always be the one Goro felt safe dropping his guard in front of, wanted to be the one to coax that soft laughter from his chest. 

Unfortunately, candles only lasted so long.

“Don’t forget to make a wish,” Akira said, breaking the moment, “hurry, before the wax melts into the icing.”

“What are we, ten?” Goro quipped.

“Humor me, I put a lot of effort into this tiramisu cake so we could properly celebrate, don’t let it go to ruin.”

“You mean, Okumura did.” 

With a knowing smile teasing his lips, Goro leaned forward and sucked in a breath. His eyes fell closed once more as he went still, his expression softening into something almost melancholic for the briefest of moments, before exhaling--blowing each candle out with that single breath. They were quickly removed from the cake. Even so, little pieces of of dried wax had to be dug out from the top layer, marring its surface. Akira frowned.

“I swear it’ll taste better than it looks right now.”

A coy smile broke across Goro’s face. “Let’s find out.” 

Akira’s jaw dropped as Goro slid his finger directly across the surface of the cake, scooping up a large dollop of icing and offering it to Akira. 

And Akira suddenly forgot how to breathe. 

Goro arched a perfectly sculpted brow. “You aren’t doing a good job of convincing me it's edible.”

The knot in his throat was making it impossible for him to speak, let alone _swallow_ , but Akira managed to somehow lean in, lips parted. And just when he was just about to take Goro’s finger into his mouth, Goro smiled wickedly.

That should have raised at least three red flags and two alarms in his head, but Akira’s higher brain functioning had temporarily shut down, making way for only one distinct line of thought. In a split second, Goro swiped the icing across Akira’s nose with a cackle he couldn’t quite contain. Akira startled with a small gasp. 

Unfortunately, the high functioning still hadn’t jump started so Akira’s shock lasted only a heartbeat before his hand shot out and snagged Goro’s by the wrist. Not to be outdone by his rival-turned-best friend-he-was-head-over-heels-for, Akira pulled his hand back and closed his lips around the finger that still had remnants of icing on it. His eyes never left Goro’s, which were blown wide watching Akira gently suck. He pulled away with a smug smile.

“Delicious,” Akira said, dropping Goro’s wrist. 

He wiped the icing off his nose with his thumb and licked it for good measure. When Goro continued to stare at him in disbelief, Akira’s heart dropped and his brain restarted. 

_Shit._

_Shitshitshit_

“Goro, I’m so sorry”--the words came out a bit jumbled, as his brain scrambled to form a coherent apology for _blatantly_ hitting on him, they had occasionally exchanged flirtatious banter in the past usually in the spirit of competing, but _this_ was a whole other level--“if I went too far--”

“I can’t believe you actually did that,” Goro cut him off, and then to Akira’s relief, laughed. “I guess I never did learn to watch what I say around you.”

“Really glad those bugs aren’t online right now.” Akira joined in, his laughter a bit breathless as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Let me grab some plates and stuff.”

But Akira’s relief didn’t last long though, for as he turned away he caught Goro flexing his fingers before drawing his hand into a fist and placing it in his lap. His face falling unsettlingly blank when he thought Akira wasn’t looking.

_Fuck._

Akira served them slices and took the seat next to Goro on the same side of the counter. The silence between them was charged with something he couldn’t quite name. His heart beat restlessly against his ribs as he tried to figure out a way to dissolve it. But the thing was it wasn’t entirely that unpleasant of a feeling. It reminded Akira of a trust fall, where the paralyzing fear of having to _let go_ competed with the sense of faith in the other to catch you when you finally took the plunge. 

_But what was the plunge? Admitting or Apologizing?_

The urge to apologize again rose up in Akira’s throat but he forced it back down with a mouthful of cake that tasted like a confession.

“Give Haru-san my regards, it is excellent,” Goro said, breaking the silence before Akira had the chance to make up his mind and dive.

“I actually did make some of this too. It was a joint effort.”

Goro hummed and set his fork on top of the empty plate. “I appreciate it, Akira. I do.”

“What are friends for?”

Silence descended again, but this time something was unmistakably off. Goro’s polite mask was slipping back into place. The charged atmosphere hadn’t disappeared, if anything, it had amplified. It buzzed in his mind, in his bones, across his skin, like a living thing. Its existence hinging on the distance settling between them. 

“Hey,” Akira nudged him with his knee, “I can hear you thinking, Goro. Care to share?”

“Apologies,” he said without meeting Akira’s eyes. “I guess I’m surprised you aren’t pestering me about my wish, since you were so adamant I made one.”

“Do you want me to?”

“Don’t you want to know what I wished for?”

 _Of course I do,_ Akira thought helplessly, _I’d do anything I could to grant it._

Akira opened his mouth to respond but Goro quickly added, “Nevermind. Forget I said anything.”

“Oh no, you’re not getting out of it that easily,” Akira teased, “What was your wish?”

“Forget it.”

“ _Goro_ ,” Akira nudged him a little harder this time, dropping the playful attitude, “you can tell me. I want to know.”

“It’s incredibly self-serving.”

“You’re allowed to be selfish on your birthday,” Akira said softly, “birthdays are special.”

The electrified silence dragged on.

In a quiet voice, Goro finally said, “I wished it was me.”

Akira tilted his head, trying to get a better look at Goro who was pointedly staring at his cake. When Akira didn’t respond, Goro continued.

“The one you fell in love with. I wished it could have been me.” 

Akira’s whole world came to a halting stop.

He smiled sadly, still avoiding looking at Akira directly. “This isn’t how I wanted to tell you. I had a plan. But then when I walked in and overheard, the thought of losing you to someone else I--” he swore under his breath and pressed his fingers into his forehead.

 _Oh._

A lot of things started to make a lot of sense. 

Akira was going to kill Ann and Futaba. Kasumi was on thin ice but only because Ann had probably roped her into it.

“Are you going to say anything or keep staring at me like I’m some kind of fool? _Fuck_ ,” Goro abruptly stood up, his bar stool skittering loudly against the wood floor behind him. “I should--”

Akira reached for him, snagging his sweater around his elbow. Goro flinched.

“I don’t want your pity,” Goro hissed, whipping around to face Akira, “so just reject me and let--”

“Kiss me.”

Goro went stiff, mouth falling open. “What.”

Taking a deep breath to steady his haywire heart, Akira traced the sharp cut of Goro’s jaw with hesitant fingers. When Goro didn’t pull away, he slotted his palm against his cheek, letting his fingers curl gently against the nape of his neck. 

Akira leaned forward in his seat. “You heard me.” 

Akira felt hot under Goro’s intense gaze but didn’t dare back down. Goro stepped closer and searched his face. The moment everything clicked his eyes went wide.

“Kiss me, Goro.”

The fabric of Akira’s shirt bunched in Goro’s fists when he hauled him closer, almost to the edge of his seat, nudging his legs apart to stand between them. Akira wrapped his arms around Goro’s neck as he pulled Akira in to meet his lips. 

From the moment Goro slated his mouth across Akira’s the world fell away. He struggled to stay grounded but all his senses were consumed by Goro closing in around him, the scent of coffee mixing pleasantly with cologne filling Akira’s brain with cotton. And he decided he suddenly didn’t care and willingly lost himself in it. Akira pressed back gently but eagerly, hoping his inexperience wouldn’t betray the moment. There was a breathless laugh he registered somewhere on the outskirts of his awareness but it was quickly forgotten when Goro took the lead once more. 

Goro coaxed his mouth open with gentle licks, pushing his tongue past Akira’s lips when they parted. Akira was flooded with the taste of him, sweet from the mascarpone icing of his cake. Goro swallowed every noise he drew out of Akira, the whines that escaped when his hands roamed Akira’s lower back pushing him flush against his chest, the moans when he titled Akira’s head back and deepened their kisses. Goro drew Akira’s bottom lip into his mouth, biting it slowly, sliding his tongue across it between each nip.

“I want to hear you say it,” Goro whispered between breaths.

“Say what?”

Goro bit him hard, and Akira’s breath caught in his throat as he tried to laugh.

“That I’m in love with you?” Pinpricks of pain from Goro’s nails digging into his back only encouraged him further, “I thought that was obvious, _detective_.”

Goro pulled away, leaving Akira’s mouth swollen and wet. “I don’t think I have enough evidence. I may need to investigate further.”

Akira smiled. 

“I’ll comply,” he murmured, leaning up to press another kiss to Goro’s lips before adding in a low purr, “ _for now._ ”

And then Goro descended upon him once more.

* * *

  
  


**_J͚̠̱̭̟̲̙̥̉̉͜u̴̟̙̞̼̓ͮ́ͅn̥̖̹̦̱̤̘ͧͪͥ͐̕e̵͕͖͆̏̍ ̨̝̗̙͚̓2̼̤̬͈̭̼ͬ̋̾̚͞n̽͏͎͙̯̥̘̟̹d̞̰̼̫̍ͬ̐͐͢,̧̪̫̄ͤ̿ ͕̺̠̱̻͓͖͆͂͘2̜̣͋͛ͬ͝0̷̣͓͈̙̥̘̀2̖̤̰̙̟̏̇͜6̨̪̝͖̱̟̟̂̇̚_ **

  
  


“Akira, what is it?”

“Hmm? Oh,” Akira said, blinking away the weird fog that had washed over him. 

The scrutinizing face of Goro Akechi appeared in his field of vision. 

“You were staring down that alleyway for over a minute. Did you even hear a word I said?” 

“I...I don’t think…” Akira trailed off. 

Peering around Goro’s frame, his gaze once more turned down the alley to focus in its corner. Something… something was there. He squinted. Or had been there. He could have sworn he saw it coalescing from the corner of his eye.

“No, you don’t.”

“Very funny.” Akira tore his attention away from the alley and returned it to the man in front of him. “I’m sorry, honey. Can you repeat it?”

His husband huffed impatiently. “What’s so interesting back there that you can’t even pay attention to our conversation for more than two seconds?”

“I think it leads to an airsoft shop...I…I think I’ve been there, or passed by there before. Can’t remember…” Akira said, running a hand through his messy hair that had started to stick to his forehead from the summer heat. 

The first signs of an ache were starting to form, like a halo around the crown of his head. Like it always did after one of these episodes.

The thought struck him as odd. _Like it always did? So this happened before…?_

Goro pursed his lips, and glared into the corner of the alleyway. After a moment his mouth lost some of its tension and his eyes started to gloss over. 

“Goro?” Akira asked, worry springing up in his gut as his husband zoned out. But just as quickly as Goro was sucked in he snapped out. Jumping right back into the conversation as if the last ten seconds hadn’t happened.

"Really? You haven't expressed an interest in model guns in nearly ten years. Did something reignite your interest? You better not be moonlighting as a thief again.”

 _This_ **_has_ ** _happened before,_ Akira struggled to keep the thought present in his mind _, this isn’t the first time, this keeps happening to us_ ... _why can’t I remember..._

Akira shuddered involuntarily, shaking the suspicious feeling down his spine and out of his system, erasing it completely.

“Not to worry, I'm not going to make your professional life any more distressing than I already do. And, I have no interest guns now.” He flashed his trademark smirk and stepped back into his husband’s space, placing both hands around his hips. “But I am very interested in _you_ , so won’t you please enlighten me with what you said again? You know how much you know I love listening to y--”

“Akira, we’re in _public_ ,” Goro hissed, swatting away his wandering hands.

Akira chuckled but relented, settling for loosely twining their fingers together. He let Goro pull him further down Central Street to the subway entrance and away from the strange alley Akira didn’t remember stopping in front of. 

“Getting back to the point, I said, If we don’t get moving we will be late to the ‘ _surprise party_ ’ you’re supposed to be ‘ _surprising_ ’ me with.” Goro used air quotes even with his fingers holding onto Akira’s, so by proxy Akira made air quotes, which made the gesture even more adorable. But he couldn’t actually tell Goro that or he’d get smacked, so Akira settled for laughing at him instead.

“Some husband you turned out to be,” Goro grumped as he led them down the stairs, but there was a hint of playfulness in his tone that betrayed his projected annoyance. 

Akira smiled at the back of Goro’s head as he jerked his train pass over the screen on turnstiles, then did the same.

It had taken Goro not even three full days to figure out Akira was planning something behind his back. Which meant that Goro had known for about three weeks now that Akira and their small circle of friends had rented out the Penguin Sniper to have a surprise party for his twenty-eighth birthday. It also meant that every time they ran into one of the former Phantom Thieves out and about, Goro had to feign ignorance. Goro loved knowing things he wasn’t supposed to, so it really wasn’t so much a chore as it was an inside joke between them every time Ryuji almost ruined it with his loud mouth.

Akira didn’t know what he did to deserve _Goro Akechi_ in his life but he was grateful for it. Or how Goro even noticed someone like Akira like _that_ in the first place all those years ago and decided out of everyone else that Akira was worthy of being his partner ( _rival, opponent, competition, equal--or whatever other label Goro insisted on calling him that day_ ). 

On the subway Akira stood in front of Goro facing forward, both holding onto overhead handrails. Akira let the crowd push him firmly up against his chest, masking the way his other hand had slipped fully into Goro’s. He gave a small squeeze at their private show of affection. There was a huff of air that brushed the back of his neck but Goro squeezed back. Akira stared out the window and grinned at Goro’s reflection.

Once they were in Kichijoji proper, it was Akechi that stopped abruptly on the street exiting the subway station. 

Akira looked back at him, and at first thought Goro had stopped to look at the casual suit center on their left, a shop Goro would never be caught dead shopping at. When a tug on his hand didn’t deter his husband, Akira moved in closer and noticed a faraway expression had settled on Goro’s face. _A daze_. Akira followed Goro’s line of sight to the alleyway in between. A strange sense of deja vu settled over Akira as his mind became hazy, as he was sucked into a trance at the sight of a vaguely coalescing circular form at the mouth of the alley. The longer he stared, the more solid its form seemed to appear, the edges swirling inward, almost as if… as if...

Goro took a sudden shuddering breath and shook his head, dropping Akira’s hand to press it against his forehead.

“Apologies, Akira,” he said, rubbing circles into his temples, “I think I feel a migraine coming on.”

Much like ripping off a band-aid, he tore his mind free and broke his gaze from the swirling vortex that the edges of reality were bleeding into, reminiscent of one of Yusuke’s abstract works of art on display in Ueno. 

And once out of Akira’ direct line of sight, the memory of the distortion began to fade.

Akira tugged hard on his fringe, trying to keep what just happened at the forefront of his awareness. But the more effort he put into thinking about it the harder it became--his thoughts, the image, the memory slipping from his mind like water through his fingers.

The thought that he’s left with is that he knows he should be _worried._ Worried that Goro has been experiencing similar bouts of...vertigo? Was it vertigo? _What was it?_ Akira tried to recall the first time Goro told him about these episodes he had been having, had he told him about it? He must have...because he… he remembered Goro saying he felt the same...but...but....maybe they aren’t getting enough iron in their diet?

God he wished his head would stop throbbing for just one second so he could _fucking think_. 

“Yeah, I’m--it must be the heat getting to us,” Akira eventually responds after the haze clears, dropping the curl he had been manhandling and offering his hand back to his husband.

Goro nodded but didn't look like he bought Akira’s excuse. “Perhaps we’ll feel better once we’ve gotten some water and food in us. Let’s go to Penguin Sniper and get this over with,” he said, slipping his hand back into Akira’s.

“Aw don’t grumble like that honey, all your friends are _dying_ to see you,” Akira teased, letting Goro gently take the lead again.

Goro scoffed at that, but there was a sly smile on his lips as he turned away to duck into Harmony alley, taking a shortcut through the shuttered shops. 

“Don't forget to act surprised,” Akira reminded him.

Akechi whipped around with an extremely convincing surprised expression plastered on his face. It dropped two seconds later, twisting into the smug expression he usually reserved for the circumstances when they were, ah, _very much alone_. Akira’s stomach clenched, sending tiny ripples of pleasure down into his core when his husband leaned in to purr, “Did you forget who you were talking to, Akira?”

“What happened to ‘ _we’re in public Akira?_ ’,” Akira retorted, but didn’t stop Goro from crowding in on him in the middle of the deserted alley and tilting his chin up to meet his mouth.

* * *

“ _Surprise_!”

Goro's expression upon hearing the cacophony of cheers is not the one he modeled for Akira a few minutes prior to their impromptu make out session against the wall of some blocked off bar. Akira came to the shocking realization that this is what genuine surprise looked like on Goro’s face.

It was a blank, wide-eyed, deer-in-the-headlights kind of stare with his lips pressed together in a thin line as he took in the multitude of faces around the room that had sprung out from different hiding spots in varying degrees of obviousness. 

“Oh, excuse me a moment,” was all Goro said before he abruptly turned away from the crowd of people and strode back out the door. 

Confused laughter erupted from the gathered clusters of his friends, along with a few “ _Awhs_ ” and “ _Ohs_ ” and one very loud, nasal “ _Error Four-oh-Four, Prince Not Found!_ ”

Perhaps Akira should have warned him it wasn’t just the former Thieves that wanted to be a part of the surprise celebration. That his co-workers from the SIU, Sae and her girlfriend, his favorite college professor, his fellow college debate team members, and Muhen all were in on it too. 

Akira quickly followed, gliding down the stairs and finding Goro waiting under the awning to the side. He was staring up at the sky, his arms crossed over his pale blue short sleeved dress shirt. 

“Gotcha?” Akira tried for lightheartedness as moved to stand beside him, not sure how to take in Goro’s contemplative mood. 

Goro blinked several times, chasing away the glassy sheen that started to settle over his eyes, before he fully turned to glare at Akira.

“Have I told you lately that I hate you?”

Akira hummed, and did his best impression of Goro’s thinking pose. “Not since yesterday when I made you pancakes for dinner and attempted to shove an entire one into your mouth while you were distract--Oh!” Akira snapped his fingers, “No, it was this morning when I ripped the covers off you to make you get out of bed fas--”

Goro silenced him with a kiss. One much gentler, more tender--a _rarity_ coming from Goro--in the way he pressed into Akira, cupping his face and running his thumbs over his cheeks. A stark contrast to the heated ones they previously exchanged--the kind Goro usually preferred.

“It was rhetorical,” Goro said, pulling back but a fraction so that his breath danced in the sliver of space between them, “damn you.” He slumped forward.

“The only person who couldn’t make it was your mother,” Akira said, accepting Goro into his arms, “She was pulled into an emergency shift at the hospital this morning, but promised she would call you tonight to both apologize and _shower you in the happiest of birthday wishes_.” 

Goro snorted.

“Her words, not mine,” Akira added to clarify.

“I know,” he mumbled into his shoulder.

When Goro made no effort to move from their embrace, Akira began to think that maybe this whole thing had been a little too much. It wasn’t exactly a secret Goro didn’t quite enjoy his birthday, that his mood was always a little melancholic. Goro claimed it was just the existential dread of aging each time Akira tried to get him to open up about it, and then would swiftly deflect the topic. 

Hence why Akira wanted to do something special for him this time, to get him out of his yearly existential funk. 

“I can kick everybody out and it can be just the two of us. Endless billiards, and a scathing rematch of strip darts that I will totally destroy you in this time, if you like,” Akira offered, turning his head to place a quick kiss on his husband’s head.

Goro pulled back with a half-frustrated half-amused groan. “Not even in your dreams, Akira, could you beat me.” Goro’s mouth curled up at the edges, the brief lapse of vulnerability gone from his eyes. He shook his head. “No. I don’t want to be coddled. I knew it was a surprise party. You did warn me my friends would be there. I...temporarily forgot I had so many.”

Akira ran his hands up and down Goro’s back. “Wow, how does the former _Detective Prince_ , current overlord of the SIU, manage to forget he has loving and loyal friends? Wait”--he pushed Goro away, an arm’s width apart, and let his voice dip low-- “does this mean I actually did manage to pull one over on you, _your majesty_?” 

Akira smirked because the answer was an obvious unspoken _yes_ , and before Goro could fire off a snide retort (which Akira was sure Goro had cocked and loaded given the warning glare he was aiming directly at him) said, “Let’s head back.”

When they re-emerged, there was another round of cheers which earned Akira another glare from Goro but it only lasted a second before they were surrounded and separated. 

The rest of the party went better than Akira could have hoped for. Goro genuinely looked happy, as people flit about him, getting him drinks, pushing presents onto him that he didn’t know what to do with. It was kind of adorable the way his nose scrunched up when Ryuji slung his arm around Goro’s neck and forced him to open some poorly wrapped box, only to discover it was a bottle of some super intense pre-workout mix. 

“Y’know, to drink before you boulder an’ shit,” Ryuji supplied enthusiastically, “Kasumi and I swear by it.” 

A very pregnant Kasumi at Ryuji’s side nodded vigorously. “You’ll love it, it’s coffee flavored! We have some at home but I can’t drink it at the moment. I’m actually a bit jealous...” She eyed the mix wistfully.

Goro’s weak response of “ _Thanks…_ ” as Ryuji jostled him had Akira snorting into his drink. 

Goro awkwardly opened the rest of his gifts, amassing a small mix of keepsakes mostly from his college and work friends. Practical items from Sae, Haru, and surprisingly Ann and Shiho--who fell into this category by getting him a new rice cooker since Goro somehow broke their old one ( " _how do you break a rice cooker Goro?!?” “Not. A. Word. Akira.”_ ). A sealed mint condition pressing of a jazz record from Muhen. A rare collectible Black Condor Neo Featherman R Figurine that was supposedly sold out and impossible to get (but all Futaba said on the matter was “ _Mwehehe I have my ways_ ”), a Kitagawa™ Original that Goro couldn’t make heads or tails of but was stunned into silence by (and neither could Akira honestly but it was breathtaking), and one crow plushie from a very proud Morgana.

“ _What the hell am I supposed to do with this_?” Goro hissed under his breath to Akira, holding the plush in the palm of his left hand and lifting a wing with his right.

“What do you mean? It’s cute, you can put it on your desk at work to admire its beauty every day,” Akira teased, barely dodging a pinch by twisting out of range but sacrificed a bit of his drink, “and hypocritically reminisce about the time you were a thief as you catch them for a living.”

Goro gave him a flat stare, and dropped the bird on top of the workout mix. 

Akira feigned shock, getting a low chuckle from Goro that turned into a tiny yelp when Akira exacted revenge and pinched him back.

After gifts, they played a couple hours of competitive billiards, following a tournament bracket Makoto had created. Akira made it to the semi-final round, facing off against Muhen and losing, which meant Muhen was going to face off against Goro for the final. Master against student. Akira was eager to find out if today would be the day that Goro unseated his sensei. 

It was, entertainingly, not.

They moved on from the thrilling trickshot battle to singing an atrociously off-key rendition of the happy birthday song, and gorging on the cake Haru especially baked for the occasion. Everyone pitched in to clean up the space while Akira packed up Goro’s newly acquired items and sent them home with Futaba to collect from later. Eventually, it was just the two of them left.

Akira trailed his fingers over the newly engraved set of darts that was his gift to Goro. He flicked his gaze up to where Goro was staring at him. “A rematch, what do you say?”

A lazy smile curled over his husband's lips as took the case and opened it. Selected a dart, the one with _Robin_ etched along its shaft, and studied it intently. “We will have to omit the strip aspect, if you’re still hoping we’ll make it on time to the dinner reservation at that sushi restaurant in Ginza,” he said stepping up to the board.

Akira’s face fell a fraction. “You figured that out too?”

Goro laughed and it sent Akira’s heart fluttering helplessly in his chest. “Of course I did. You really aren’t as subtle as you think.” 

“What gave it away?”

He took aim. “Telling me to dress nice.” 

_Bullseye._

Akira stared at him.

Goro continued on, picking up the second dart _Loki_ , “I _always_ dress nice. So having to clarify what you meant because you dress like--”

Akira waved him off, “Yeah yeah, I like simple comfort. Sue me.” 

_Bullseye._

“So me asking you to wear fancier clothing was the tip off?”

“The Sniper is hardly a place one needs to dress up for, therefore I deduced there must be a secondary location you plan on whisking me away to.” Goro picked up the final dart, _Hereward_ . “What led me to this was the fact you were actually putting effort into considering our appearance. You wouldn’t do that without a special reason,” Goro said, lining up his last shot. “And as you like to constantly remind me, _birthdays are special_.”

_Bullseye._

“Your motive was pretty obvious, Akira.”

Akira pouted.

Just a little bit. 

And he _might_ have grumbled when he said, “You know, scoring bullseyes aren’t _that_ impressive anymore, we’re not teenagers.”

Goro simply smiled. “Old habits die hard.”

* * *

  
  


They had enjoyed an extravagant dinner in one of the high rise restaurants, and decided to get a drink at Crossroads to end the night out before returning home for more... _private_ celebrations. 

After leaving the station and entering the streets of Shinjuku Goro’s attention was drawn off to a side alley. And for one heart-stopping moment _he remembered._

In Kichijoji earlier, on Central street before that. Last week. Last Month, _Last year._

A swirling vortex, sucking in the distorted edges of the world around it. Light and color that bled into its dark center, gaping open like the maw of some otherworldly creature. Calling to him, beckoning him to step closer. And he wanted to. Vaguely, he registered Akira’s voice calling his name. It floated in the periphery of his consciousness but his mind was on the brink of an epiphany, flashes of-of memories? Of twisting depths, bursts of magic, of gunshots, if only he could… if only...

**_He remembered._ **

His hand clamped over his mouth to stop the scream that nearly ripped from him unwillingly as the world shifting vertigo-like sensation struck again. This time was _much_ worse than what had come over him in Kichijoji. If Akira hadn’t been literally standing in front of him, Goro would have probably fallen over from the sheer intensity of disorientation and pain erupting in his skull, behind his eyes.

 _This has happened before, it’s getting worse, there’s a pattern here_ , his instincts screamed at him as the pain numbed out his thoughts, all the memories he just gained were erasing themselves, slipping from his mind faster than he could process what was happening to him.

 _Alley, vortex, memories, pain, mind fog, repeat_. _Don’t forget. Don’t forget._

He gasped and crumpled into Akira’s (always open) arms. Akira was speaking to him, but again, it was muffled. The concern though was evident.

 _"We should go home_ ” was what Goro’s brain finally registered as the fog began to clear and he slipped back into ignorance.

“I’m fine Akira,” he said, straightening up and fixing his hair, “the heat is really taking a toll on me today.”

Akira’s mouth opened and closed a few times, staring at him in disbelief. “Goro, you nearly passed out.” He quickly put the back of his hand to Goro’s forehead. “Temps fine. You drank plenty of water earlier--”

“Stop fussing.” Goro pulled Akira’s hand away. “I’m. Fine.”

Akira exhaled heavily. “Maybe alcohol isn’t the best idea right now.”

“I am having a damn drink on my birthday. And then we’re going home so I can fuck you senseless after having to watch you bend yourself over pool tables all god damn day.” Goro took exorbitant amounts of delight in the way Akira’s cheeks flushed bright pink, the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed a gasp.

"You can't just say things like that." Akira nuzzled his face into Goro's neck to hide his embarrassment, and turned his head to the side to let it rest on his chest.

Then went still.

“I can and I will. But first, you’ll be having a drink with me,” Goro said matter of factly, pushing a clingy Akira off him and turned to stalk off Crossroads.

When he didn’t feel Akira’s presence at his back, he glanced over his shoulder. An odd sense of deja vu washed over him at the sight of Akira standing stock still in the middle of the busy street, eyes fixating on something off to the side.

Goro stopped and crossed his arms. “Are you joining me?”

Akira’s brows furrowed, registering that he heard Goro call to him but made no effort to move. 

“For the love of god.” Goro pinched his nose. “ _Kurusu_!”

His husband took a sharp breath in, shivered and then turned to face Goro, throwing him one of those charming smiles that made him weak in the knees. 

“Technically that’s not my name anymore,” he called back, making Goro's heart flip clumsily over itself. 

The bright neon lights from the surrounding shops cast him in an ethereal glow as he approached. 

“ _Coming_!”

* * *

  
  


Goro’s back hit the back of their apartment door with a moan.

“So needy,” he said, nipping at Akira’s bottom lip. 

Each bite was a little harder than the last to retaliate against Akira’s deft hands making quick work of his shirt. Button by button.

Akira whined when Goro twisted the fingers buried in his soft hair and pulled his head back.

“You like it,” Akira whispered, straining against Goro’s hold on his hair.

Akira’s swollen lips split into a smirk when Goro shivered at the contact of Akira’s fingers traced down his newly exposed stomach. “Let me show you,” his hand then grabbed hold of his belt and tugged, “just how needy I am.”

Goro sucked in a breath, “ _Akira_.”

His grip loosened just enough to let Akira dive back in, stealing the breath from his lungs with each feverish open mouthed kiss he lavished him with. Akira pressed a heated kiss to the corner of his mouth, then his chin, his throat, as his belt fell to the ground with a clink. His trail of torturous lovebites descended down his chest as he slowly knelt before Goro. Akira’s mouth roamed over the taught planes of Goro’s abdomen that flexed when Akira traced one of the places he nicked with his tongue. A prelude of what was to come.

When Akira reached the front his now undone pants, he gently pulled them down past his hips.

Akira hummed. “Seems like I’m not the only one.” 

He looked up at Goro with wide eyes of molten, swirling silver, mouthing over Goro’s erection straining against the dark fabric of his briefs. Akira slipped a finger underneath the fabric, gliding up Goro’s inner thigh when his phone rang.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Goro forcefully exhaled, and pulled the phone from his back pocket. He snorted. “ _Okaasan_.”

Akira leaned back with an infuriating smile, “You know she’ll keep calling until you answer. She loves to annoy you.”

Goro let out a dejected laugh and detached himself from Akira fully, adjusting himself and his pants.

“Bed. Now,” he commanded, accepting the call and raising the phone to his ear. And in a completely different tone, said, “ _Moshi moshi_.”

“ _Hai!_ _Happy Birthday!_ _I’m so, so sorry I missed your party Go-chan_ ,” the voice on the other end said.

Akira clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle his snickering. When Goro glared at him, Akira mouthed “Oh, _Go-chan~_ ”.

Goro pulled the phone to his chest, muffling the microphone and mouthed back, “ _I. Will. Kill. You_.” 

Then flicked him, none too lightly.

“Ow!” Akira pouted, rubbing his arm for a moment before gripping the edges of his shirt and taking it off in one motion. He tossed over the edge of the couch.

“ _Was that Akira? Hi Aki-chan!_ ”

**_How does she know his name?_ **

  
  


A voice reverberated in the back of his mind, sending a chill down his spine.

“It was, hello Akechi-san!” Akira raised his voice and stepped out of Goro’s lethal flicking reach. “We missed you today!”

  
  


**_Think! Akira has never met her._ **

  
  


A wave of vertigo accompanied the sound of the disembodied this time, amplifying the chill coursing through his veins, spreading through his limbs in a cold fire. All sounds from his phone dimmed into a solitary ring in his ear. Excruciating pain began to pulse behind his eyes as something fought through his awareness, clawing its way to the front of his mind.

Goro grabbed his head as an unbidden memory rushed in and the voice spoke out.

  
  


**_She’s never met Akira._ **

  
  


_His mother forgot to pick him up from school again so he has to walk home alone._

  
  
  
  


Goro dug his fingers into his temple, grasping at strands of his hair and tried to rip them out, to stem the tide of agony ripping apart his nerve endings everywhere else.

  
  


**_Remember._ **

  
  


_He unlocks the door and quietly enters the apartment. The only light spilling into the hall is from the bathroom, the door was left ajar._

  
  
  


**_She died_ ** _._

  
  
  


_Everything is dark red. Her hands, her arms, his shirt._

  
  
  


Goro dropped to his knees, his head splitting open as if Haru had taken her battle axe to the back of his skull. And in the crevice that formed from the broken fragments of bone, a year’s worth of memories flooded in. 

**_Remember!_**

  
  


_There’s no pulse._

  
  


**_None of this is real._ **

Goro screamed.

And the line went dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter ended up being over 12k so i decided to split it, giving you this half now and the other half that i'm still editing next week! (it got so long bc i added more spicy scenes to pack more an emotional punch ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) and they take me forever to edit)
> 
> this also means the total chapter number increased!

**Author's Note:**

> hi! this fic is almost entirely written and will update every 2 weeks until its finished :)
> 
> cry with me on twt: [salexectria](https://twitter.com/salexectrial)


End file.
